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“I didn’t… I would never!” she says, stumbling over her words. “I don’t know how that got there, sir, but I would never ruin your shirt.”
“Clean it again,” I say, throwing the garment at her. “Hand wash this thing until the stain is gone, or you’re out the door. If I ever see any of my shirts like this again, I’ll supervise your punishment myself.”
Teary-eyed, the girl accepts the garment from my outstretched fingers and lays it on the washing machine, reaching up for the bleach.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask, looming over her. “Never use bleach on my shirts!”
She jumps back, nearly colliding with me. Sweet, floral perfume wafts up this close, and I have to step away. Rage courses through my veins at the fact that she thinks she can somehow seduce me with her intoxicating scent.
“Use the stain remover,” I say, turning on my heel and walking away before any more of her scent gets on me.
As my footsteps echo through the halls, my jaw clenches with barely contained frustration, irritation mounting with each step. How could someone be so useless, so completely incompetent?
Fitz should have never brought on someone like her. She’s too young, too naive for a job like this. Her delicate, angelic looks are a weapon meant to disarm me, but I will not be tempted.
My twisted satisfaction only grows upon seeing her resolve and determination waver under my intense scrutiny. Breaking this creature is my sole mission in life right now.
The next day, as she dusts the mantelpiece in the drawing room, I watch with a cruel, calculating smirk. “You missed a spot,” I taunt, words dripping with contempt. “Honestly, can’t you do anything right? You’re completely useless. I have no idea why Fitz hired you.”
Her hands tremble and she fights back tears, ignoring me as she continues her work. Before I can add another word, sirens start blaring from a distance, coming closer and closer up the hill of the estate.
Both our eyes turn to look out the window at the same time, a flurry of activity unfolding in front of us.
The roar of a motorcycle tells me all I need to know as I watch Ryder race up the drive, the police hot on his tail. The bike doesn’t belong to him. He’s stolen it and brought it back here, the idiot.
A groan escapes me, and I stand, squaring my shoulders as I march down the stairs to face this issue head-on. Ryder pulls up to the front of the manor just as the police arrive, calling for him to put his hands on his head and get onto his knees.
This debacle has commanded the attention of everyone within the vicinity of the estate, and all eyes are on us now as I step outside.
The police swarm the front lawn, a mess of flashing red and blue lights and uniformed officers shouting instructions left and right.
“Officers!” I call out, taking the concrete steps down to the driveway, footsteps crunching over the gravel. “What is this commotion?”
“Stay out of this,” an officer yells. “Hands on your head, get on the ground!” he hollers at Ryder.
“Did you steal this bike, Rye?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Hey, Theo. Might have borrowed it from a friend of a friend,” he says, tone nonchalant as he eases his way off the bike, hands in the air.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask. “No one was hurt, right?” I ask, tilting my head toward my brother.
“Nah. Just wanted to take this thing for a spin, see what she could do,” Ryder drawls.
“See?” I say, holding my arms out. “Surely, we can work something out. No one was hurt. Maybe we can have the charges dropped if this idiot returns the bike? The Callahans are ardent supporters of the law,” I add, dropping the family name. A few officers start lowering their weapons, getting the message.
“He stole private property,” the officer nearest me says, a scowl on his face.
“Idiocy is hardly a crime,” I tell the man, moving closer. He draws his gun up higher, apprehension on his face.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Officer Stevens,” he answers, jutting his chin toward his name badge.
“Well, Officer Stevens,” I say, taking another step closer, “the Callahan family want to commend you for your duty in upholding the law. We’d like to make a large donation in your name to the police union.”
The officer glances at my brother, who gives him a cheery wave, and then turns back to me. “I suppose we can let this go,” he mutters. “No one was hurt. But if he ever pulls crap like this again, he’s not getting off so easily.”
“Understood,” I say, reaching a hand out to grab my brother by the arm. “I’ll talk to him.”
